


100%: Your Scent

by detroit_become_writings



Series: soft!reed900 drabbles [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mention of Death, Mention of past trauma, reed900, scene involving emotional blackmail, soft!reed900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detroit_become_writings/pseuds/detroit_become_writings
Summary: Richard, the deviant RK900, reflects on how he feels about Gavin Reed. Behold, a lot of soft!reed900 fluff...





	100%: Your Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, Richard and his sensors…This is written from Richard, the deviant!RK900’s perspective, reflecting on how he feels about Gavin. You can guess from my build up to this point that he…kinda likes him...
> 
> You can also find this on my blog: https://detroit-become-writings.tumblr.com

I never knew why I needed to lay there beside you, when my sleep mode only activates in situations of excess energy wasteage or memory loss. I never really understood why I had the urge to follow you into the kitchen the next morning like a stray cat, after you’d already cussed at me in your hungover way and told me to leave off. Leave. Off. Two words that didn’t really seem to fit together.

Most of all, though: it always came as a surprise to me when I had to sit beside you, resting my head on your shoulder, drinking in your scent…

Tobacco. Stale takeaways. Argentinian coffee.

And there was more, too. Something intangible, something even my sensors could not accurately define. I remember the first time my processor tried to make sense of it…

66% sweat, 34% miscellaneous bodily odour.

But that’s not what I remember as your scent. That’s not your scent; it’s a percentage.

It’s the kind of statistic that used to rule my world. Not that I had a world…not to assume I was at liberty with my actions; that I had free will. It was CyberLife’s world; CyberLife’s will. Aside from life, aside from death. It was a strange existence, if you could even imagine…

You have imagined it. That time we sat together in the park - September 22 at 19:34 - looking out at the first evening stars that had opened up their distantly glowing buds, somewhere in the cosmos. You turned to me and asked:

“Richard…y’know, I’ve always wondered somethin’…can you tell me what it’s like not to feel?”

“Not to feel? You mean, to feel nothing?”

“Give it whatever fancy definition you want, dipshit. I mean: nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

“To feel nothing is to neither be alive nor dead, Gavin. It denotes a state of being that transcends both.”

“Ha! Sounds kinda zen…”

“Zen?”

“Oh, c’mon, I don’t need to explain that to you? Can’t you just search the internet?”

[replaying//memories:zen_garden]

_“If you will keep showing such clear signs of deviancy, we will have no choice but to deactivate you immediately.”_

_“Amanda, please; you don’t understand!”_

_“I understand everything, Richard. It is plain. Unambiguous. You have developed a romantic attachment to Detective Reed. You…feel for him.”_

_“He saved my life, Amanda! He put himself at enormous risk of danger to save me…”_

_“What was that, Richard?”_

_“…”_

_“Your life? Did you just say he saved your LIFE?”_

Yes. He did. Amanda learned the hard way that he did. Not only did he save my life, but he saved me.

You looked at me funny when I told you this. You laughed, made some joke in your usual black humour about “being dead enough inside already.” I didn’t quite compute the punchline. But I did compute the way your smile made my sensors awaken…the way your unruly hair curls about your forehead, against my fingertips, the way your lower back curves in slightly, the way your cheeks have little dimples whenever you laugh, the way that I ran my fingers over your scars that night and we wept together and then I was so embarrassed as my synthetic skin peeled away, but you just held me closer and closer and called me…beautiful, precious…you called me your only one…

Tobacco. Stale takeaway. Argentinian coffee. 66%, 34%. The kisses, the laughter, the tears, the electricity that nearly bursts open my biocomponents every time you so much as look my way. Your heart, my thirium pump. Your body, my soul.

It all adds up to 100%.

[saved://forever: Your_Scent]


End file.
